Mirror Image
by bitter-alisa
Summary: CM Punk and Jeff Hardy, two complete opposites, just like love and hate. But there is only one step between those two, and maybe after all they are much more similar than they thought they were? What reflects in their eyes when they look at each other? Love or hate?


**Disclaimer: **sadly, I don't own anything, except for the plot. If I would, there would be no reason to write fanfiction, and Jeff would be in WWE again, in as many storylines with Punk as possible. How cool would that be!

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This stupid feud of yours has gone downright ridiculous, you think after yet another match you shared and another pointless threats you have exchanged, spilling your mutual hatred out for the world to see, the hatred completely unmotivated and uncalled for. Somehow it's gotten way too personal, despite the fact that you even have used to hang out together, and some say that you should just give it a shot again, but you're not buying it. The man represents everything you despise, just as Raven once did, and look how it all turned out for him in the end?

You can't help but to notice how personal it is for Jeff as well, even though it's different kind of personal, different kind of fire burning in him, and you choose to ignore it for the time being, you try to forget that you have given this a fair amount of thought too.

You have wasted way too many nights contemplating all the "whys" and "what ifs" after you rejected Jeff's feelings to save your own principles and sanity.

There is much more behind every word and every touch Jeff aims at you, it is all that "I hate you because you hate me" crap going on, but also the "these grapes are sour" thing, the "I can't get you so I'll better hate you then" shit, and it is very frustrating, because you want him just as well.

It seems you should resent your principles for not letting you have what you want, but you once again are grateful for your well-trained morals, because that's what keeping you sane and unbroken. Straight line between wrong and right, between you and Jeff, between all the filth you would dive right into and the purity you have built for yourself in many years – you just have to keep drawing it between you, again and again, because it seems to blur every time you touch.

Jeff's eyes follow you around all the time, and while you do find it flattering – _that's right, you better watch your back for me _– sometimes it's just too much, sometimes it is just crossing all boundaries. Like now, when you come to change from the ring gear under Jeff's watchfull eye, and the locker room is so conveniently empty. You are conflicted with desire to get even with him and beat the living crap of him, this time for real, and the wish to lock the door up and fuck him senseless, knowing he's probably on some drugs again and he won't even remember it the morning after. After a brief consideration you however realize that you are way too tired for any kind of bullshit, but to your surprise Jeff gets off the wall he's leaning on and locks the door himself.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asks without any preamble, his voice strangely hushed, not aggressive or mocking even in the slightest, and you are not entirely sure what to make of it.

_You've got to be fucking kidding me_, you think and roll your eyes- the man had just defeated you in front of thousands of people, insulted your beliefs and family, and he yet has the nerve to just ask it like that.

"Just how high exactly are you at the moment, Jeff?" You decide to go for a counter-attack, not putting too much effort in it, even though half-assing your insults has never been your style.

"Answer me, Punk," Jeff is strangely demanding, and it is probably a very inappropriate moment for you to notice that both of you are wearing nothing but remains of your ring gear.

"Because you are everything I despise, everything I am proudly not," You answer, holding your head up, not letting your glance slip down Jeff's body which you just had the chance to fully experience in the ring, but it somehow it is never enough, somehow you always want to see and feel more than you should ever allow yourself to.

"This is where you're wrong, Punkers," a green gaze, just a few tones different from your own is now aimed at you, holding you still, paralyzing, and you can't help yourself but to stay, no matter how much all of your instincts are screaming to run.

"Look at me."

And you do, because permission is granted, now you don't have to hide your stare form anyone, and mostly from yourself.

You are at the same level, your height is identical, so is the width of your shoulders and hips, the same way you both are skinny fatasses, never able to get proper abs; the same hairless skin, the exact same amount of sweatdrops glistening on it, you could count them all if you wanted to. Jeff's hair is lose and so is yours, and all the colors on Jeff's head remind you of how you used to look back in the indies; you both share the love for colorful tattoos and various piercings, and now you see just why exactly you pulled of Jeff's look so easily that time.

You are so similar, that it feels like you are looking in the mirror.

The differences lay deeper than skin, but it is still a reflection, just the way your right is the mirror's left, just the way what is right for you is wrong for Jeff and vice versa.

"Now look at yourself," Jeff whispers, but you don't need to, because you have seen yourself already while looking into Jeff's eyes.

You wonder how it is going to proceed when you lift your hand to stroke his cheek and he does the same simultaneously, and you grin because he does, and although you feel like a pair of some sick marionettes, it does seem _appropriate_ for him to guess your every move before you even think of it. You don't have to lean in to kiss him and it surprises you how good it feels, not having to shift yourself, as it usually is with someone else.

"All that for me, Punk?" he teases you when his hand slides town and cups your growing arousal, and when his other hand guides yours to his groin, you are not surprised to find him hard too; he is because you are.

You chuckle when you briefly wonder whether sex with him could be legitimately considered as masturbation, now that his body feels like a continuation of your own, and you feel him smiling into the kiss because the same thought has just probably crossed his mind. You let all the emotions flow into the kiss, all the passive-aggressive and aggressive-aggressive feelings you have been holding for so long, and he does the same, so it's all teeth and tongues and lack of air, but neither of you bothers to break it. Somehow neither of you actually dominates and also you both do, you both obey to the unspoken commands from the other, because you both know what you want and you both are very demanding about it.

You finally lay on the floor, have gotten rid of your clothes, 69, and it is somewhat strange that your techniques differ; he goes for deep immediately, while you tease and play around, but from muffled moans it is clear that you both gave guessed correctly about what gives you the most pleasure.

Just before both of you are ready to reach the climax, you both stop simultaneously, you cool down for a second, and when he turns around and slides underneath you, you realize that this a one-time offer to get hold of him, because next time he'll probably take you, as it should be, since you find more joy in obeying him; you don't care if you like it because it's some sort of a punishment or a compromise you have made with yourself for breaking so many rules of your moral code.

Somehow the idea that there actually _will_ be next time comes very easily to you.

You pull his legs apart, and when your fingers scissor him from the inside, he doesn't feel as tight as the others normally do; he is no virgin, but neither are you, so it is completely fine, and you're not even jealous of those who had stretched him before you. He is ready for you in no time, and when you take your fingers away, he whimpers at loss. You silence him by pressing your lips against his and sliding your cock inside him.

He doesn't talk much and you are grateful for it, you never know what to respond to the supposedly hot sex talk; you are more than satisfied to hear his rare moans and share your own with him.

You are almost embarrassed at how little time it takes for you to be ready to come, and you try to hit his spot as hard as you can for you to be even. His back arches under you, and he gives you a questioning glance asking for a permission to come. You are glad to oblige, you thrust once again and you both shiver when orgasm hits you at the same time.

Of course it does.

"I love you," he says, not afraid to anymore, because now it's only logical that if he loves you, you love him back.

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I really really hope you have enjoyed this! Please let me know whether you did or not, every review is most anticipated and appreciated.  
Thank you for reading :)


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